


The Ninth's Blessing

by rei_c



Series: Stiles Stilinski: Vongola Sky [5]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Claudia Stilinski's Backstory, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Sky Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16613987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: Stiles finally gets to meet his uncle Timoteo. It goes about as well as he expected -- sort of.





	The Ninth's Blessing

When they land in Italy, there are three SUVs and a whole handful of people waiting for them. The people are clearly separated into two groups; one group is just a pair of very uncomfortable-looking men and the other -- 

"That must be Lussuria," Stiles guesses, laying eyes on the mostly-brown-but-a-little-green-haired, trenchcoat-wearing person with sunglasses perched on the end of their nose. "And -- who else?" 

"Belphegor," Xanxus says. "My storm." 

Stiles leans towards Erica, says, "The one with the tiara. They call him Prince the Ripper, according to Xanxus." 

Erica bares her teeth. "Fun," she says. "And Lussuria?" 

"The tall one next to Belphegor," Stiles says. "Sun. My -- my mom apparently introduced him to Xanxus. And if that group's Varia, then the pair standing a noticeable distance away would be from the Ninth?" 

Xanxus makes a noise in the back of his throat. "His storm, Coyote, and one of the household staff." 

Stiles remembers his mother's stories about the Varia, knows what Xanxus has told him over the past week, but he hadn't expected to see such a division, such clear discomfort. It doesn't bode well. 

The pilot opens the plane's door, lets the stairs down. Stiles takes a deep breath and walks out, Erica following on his heels. "Do you know what you're doing, Stiles?" she asks, leaning forward to murmur in Stiles' ear as Coyote starts to walk towards them. 

"Not a fucking clue," Stiles mutters back. 

Xanxus peels off to the side; Stiles watches, a little jealous at the honest happiness he sees on the faces of the Varia members Xanxus is currently greeting. 

"Mieczysław," Coyote says, coming to a stop in front of Stiles, inclining his head in a sharp nod. Stiles' eyes fix on the mustache rather than the glacial look in Coyote's eyes. "I hope your flight was comfortable." 

"It was, thank you," Stiles says. He gestures at Erica, says, "Erica Reyes, my first and, thus far, only bonded." 

Coyote gives Erica a head-to-toe look -- nothing sexual but assessing in its own way. He nods but apparently doesn't think she's worth much more than that, turning his attention back to Stiles. "Your bags will be collected and brought to the house. If you'd come with me, the Ninth is waiting." 

Coyote turns, then, as if he expects to be obeyed. Stiles gives Erica a look; she rolls her eyes. 

\--

The drive takes about twenty minutes, is picturesque but might only be so because Stiles hasn't ever been out of California. They pass a couple vineyards, a few pastures that look empty, tree-covered hills in the background and a clear, endless sky. The walls around Vongola headquarters are tall and thick and the gates they drive through are just as massive. The SUV slows as it goes up a long driveway lined with trees and bushes, parking outside of the front doors, though the driver leaves the engine running and doesn't make any move to get out. 

"He called this a _house_ ," Erica says. "This isn't a house, this is a fucking mansion." 

"Magical mafia," Stiles says. "I think we're prone to understatement and overreaction." 

Erica elbows him, gives Stiles a tenuous grin. "You're definitely one of them, then." 

Stiles scoffs but, before he can respond, someone opens his door, moves to the side with a murmured, "Welcome, Vongola." 

"Not Vongola yet," Stiles says, getting out, taking in the house. This is where his mother grew up, where she was born and raised, where she was exiled from. It's beautiful on the outside with tall windows reflecting the sun and shrubs that smell of oranges, must be just as gorgeous inside, but he knows -- thinks he knows, anyway -- what he's walking into. The beauty is one thing but the Vongola are a pit of vipers, ruthless and ready to strike on anyone unprepared. Like something in his blood -- maybe his flame -- recognises where he's at, Stiles straightens, squares his shoulders, feels steel flood his spine. He won't be allowed weakness, here. He won't be allowed mercy. He'll have to be just as ruthless, just as cut-throat, just as vicious. 

As much as he hates himself for it, he's almost looking forward to the challenge.

"Stiles?" Erica asks, like she can feel the flickers of loathing and disgust and excitement in his flame. 

"Let's go meet my uncle and see if he'll let us live," Stiles says. He can feel a reflection of Erica's shock, then her determination, as he follows Coyote inside. 

\--

Stiles studies the man in front of him. Vongola Nono, the Ninth, the head of the famiglia, is old, that's the first thing that strikes him. Xanxus told him and Claudia mentioned more than once that there was a wide age gap between her and her older brother, but Stiles didn't expect the Ninth to be so -- frail-looking. Looking and feeling, both, because the hints of flame pouring off of the Ninth are tremulous. Stiles has no doubt that the Ninth can bring those flames to bear -- and _hard_ \-- when necessary, but right now, sitting here? There's a definite hint of weakness. 

No wonder he was pushing Tsunayoshi so hard.

"You look like your mother," Timoteo says. "Her eyes, her hair. Thank god you didn't inherit her flame." 

Stiles doesn't say anything but he knows the displeasure he feels is echoed by the curl of his flames, the way that his eyes just flared orange. His mother might've been a rain but she was a _strong_ rain, probably could've fought at Colonello's level and bested him once or twice. Sealing her flame the way Timoteo did is what killed her, in the end; her flame fought the seal, she fought the flame, and when the battleground moved from flame to body, her mind deteriorated so fast that there was no chance anyone could save her. Not that Stiles thinks any of the Vongola would have. They washed their hands of his mother the first time she told her brother 'no' and meant it.

Timoteo's eyebrow rises. "A hard sky. You might look like your mother but I get the impression you're more like your grandmother than anyone else." 

"The Ottavo was a strong woman," Stiles says, "and a great leader. I'm honoured to be compared to her." 

"Of course you would be," Timoteo mutters. He sighs, shakes his head. His sun moves closer, rests a hand on Timoteo's shoulder. Stiles sees the tension in Timoteo's muscles give, a little, and he narrows his eyes at the sun, instantly equating whatever the sun's doing to a werewolf's pain-draining abilities. He doesn't _think_ the sun's a 'wolf but he can't be sure, not with the strength of the sun's flame. 

Erica steps closer, drawn by the tugging in their bond, and she brushes her arm against Stiles'. Having her close settles some of Stiles' nerves but it also gives her a chance to take everything in from the same level as Stiles. They haven't reached the point of being able to talk just by looking at each other, the way he and Scott used to be able to do, but Stiles tilts his head at the sun and Erica follows his gaze. She must see what Stiles is asking, judging from the way her nostrils flare, but she shakes her head minutely. 

"And who is this?" Timoteo asks. He's leaning forward in his wheelchair, looks intrigued by the silent conversation Stiles and Erica just had. 

"My first guardian," Stiles says. "Erica Reyes." 

Timoteo gestures for Erica to get closer. Erica glances at Stiles, who nods, before she moves, eventually dropping to one knee in front of Timoteo. He puts his hands on her cheeks, tilts her head this way and that, and finally waves her away. "Latent cloud," he says. "Most Vongola skies bond a rain first." 

Stiles gives Timoteo a hard smile once Erica's safely behind him again. "Most," Stiles says, "but not all. You might not care for your mother's legacy, Vongola Nono, but I'm honoured to be compared to the Ottavo, in this and in my flame type."

Any goodwill in Timoteo's expression disappears immediately. "You accept the name your mother threw away, Mieczysław Stilinski, with all the rights and responsibilities it entails?" 

"I do," Stiles says, baring his teeth in a pale imitation of a smile. 

"You accept the position of heir-apparent, to become Vongola Decimo when I either die or retire?" Timoteo asks. 

Stiles inclines his head sharply. "I do," he says. 

Timoteo's smile is barbed, dangerous. "You accept the possibility of a ring battle to cement your position and the loyalty of the famiglia?" 

"I already have the support of my cousin, Xanxus, and the Varia follows him," Stiles says. He relishes the flinch that runs through Timoteo's body though Stiles knows that aligning himself with the Varia will most likely come back to bite him later. "Tsunayoshi has ceded the position to me with gratitude. There are no other skies in the family and no other bloodline descendents who might activate a sky flame. Who, Nono, do you expect me to battle?" 

Timoteo nods, scowling. "You are more like your grandmother than we'll know what to do with," he says, "but she led the Vongola with distinction and if you're even one-tenth of what she was, the family will be in good hands when you take over. Welcome, nephew." 

Stiles feels a little blindsided, but he's still enough in control to say, "Uncle Timoteo. Thank you for the invitation."


End file.
